


The Long Count

by shop5



Category: The Song of Achilles - Madeline Miller
Genre: Feels, M/M, Modern, boxing au, post patroclus dying
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-17
Updated: 2015-09-17
Packaged: 2018-04-21 04:02:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,958
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4814204
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shop5/pseuds/shop5
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Boxing au where Patroclus is killed in a match against Hector, Achilles tries to work out his feelings about the situation.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Long Count

He’d been there since the gym opened. Actually before that. He’d done his usual workout twice by now and had completely brushed off anyone that tried to talk to him. Even if it was just to say they were happy to see him back and especially if it was to offer him condolences. He had zoned out working the bag when Antilochus caught it and forced him to break his concentration.

            “You need to stop,” he said calmly, giving Achilles a hard look. “You’re going to hurt yourself.”

            Achilles glared. “Let. Go.”

            Antilochus held the bag firm and stared him down. “Cool off, Achilles. This isn’t helping anyone.”

            Achilles shoved him, becoming acutely aware of all the eyes in the gym on them. “You want to go?” He said, in a raised voice. He looked around daring them. “Anyone. In the cage. Let’s go.”

            Antilochus reached out to put a hand on his shoulder but Achilles pulled back before he could.

            “Tell Agamemnon to put me back on the card. I want Hector.”

            A murmur went through the gym.

            “Achilles—”

            “Just fucking do what I said Atilochus.” Achilles snapped. He threw his gloves on the ground and stalked toward the door. Antilochus sighed and followed after him.

            “Achilles wait. Stop it. You think this is what he would want? To see you destroying yourself.”

            “I’ll win the fight. I’m the best, remember?”

            “That’s not what I’m talking about.”

            Achilles turned back around and pushed Antilochus up against the wall, his fist clenched. “Where were you Antilochus? Huh? I told you to watch him. I told you to flag it if it got too much. I told you if it was Hector call it off.”

            Antilochus was silent.

            “That’s what I thought.” Achilles pulled away and headed back down the hall toward the locker room.

            “It was his choice Achilles, the rate you’re going you’re gonna crash and burn.” Antilochus shouted after him. Achilles ignored him and kept walking.

            In the locker room he tied his hair back quickly and pulled on Pat’s hoodie. It was light and soft and he only slightly grimaced at the peeling black Hellespont MMA logo on the front. He shoved the rest of his stuff in his bag and left. He’d go for a run, he thought. He was sick of the gym anyway. Sick of the people. Sick of the stale smell. Sick of the out of date music they kept too loud on the speakers.

            Outside the air was chilly. It was a clear afternoon and he could smell the coast on the breeze. Achilles took a deep breath and stretched. He slung his bag over his shoulders, and put in his headphones before running off. He jogged east toward the docks. Past the condos and the car lots, the hotels with the plastic palm trees and the diner with a crescent moon in neon on it’s door. He ran until his legs started to burn and collapsed on a secluded piece of beach somewhere between the dunes with the spiny fences and wind mill farm humming its single, low, droning, note.

            The phone in his bag was buzzing again. It have been all day but in the last week he’d barely looked at it for more than scrolling through old texts or calling Pat’s number to hear the voicemail message. He put the headphones away and tossed the bag in a nearby clump of beach grass before curling up on the sand with his face against his arm.

            He’d barely been home since the funeral. He mostly went there to crash for a few hours and get a change of clothes. He couldn’t face Briseis. He wasn’t ready for that conversation and every time he caught her looking at him that unspoken _it should have been you_ got harder to handle. He imagined if she just said it outright he wouldn’t have even argued with her.

            He’d finally worked up the nerve to watch the fight last night. It was low def, phone quality but you could still see how wide Pat’s grin was when he walked into the ring. He could watch that part over and over. It was better than the other image he had in his head, of a corpse on a coroner’s slab covered in barely realized bruises and the punctured lung that killed him. After he went down it had been almost half a minute before anyone noticed Pat wasn’t breathing. Thirty seconds of him lying there before anyone decided to stop gloating over Hector long enough to notice something was wrong or even bother to check.

            Achilles closed his eyes and listened to the sea gulls. He barely registered the shadows getting longer and the waves getting closer. He’d lost count of the times he and Pat had come to the beach together but he remembered bits and pieces of every trip here. He remembered hot summers when they were kids and sand under his finger nails. He remembered skinny dipping the night of senior prom and eating figs in the shade of a large jutting rock near the inlet. He dug his fingers into the sand hearing his phone buzz again.

            They were afraid he was going to kill himself. That’s why they kept calling. That’s why people kept finding an excuse to talk to him but it wasn’t because they cared. Maybe his mom did, maybe Antilochus, Briseis might have felt obligated too, but the others? They were just worried the cash cow was going out to pasture. He went under so did the whole gym that’s how this started in the first place.

            Achilles had never been Agamemnon’s biggest fan but the man had given him his first shot. And he’d never let him forget it either. Eventually the insults and insinuation that Achilles owed him anything reached their tipping point and Achilles had said no more, sighting an old ankle injury and siting out a couple important events to watch them sweat. Hector’s gym had taken every advantage of the falling out, not that Agamemnon’s people were bad but Hector’s people were better spinning the story to make Agamemnon look incompetent. With every interview Agamemnon’s sponsors got more and more hesitant despite however much he reassured them Achilles was coming back. It had been amusing. Watching Agamemnon go all red faced in front a camera whenever someone asked about it. Pat hadn’t thought it was all that funny.       

             “You have to fight,” he’d said. They’d been out on the patio of their building lounging around in beach chairs when he brought it up.

            “I don’t have to do anything,” Achilles said. “Agamemnon says the gym doesn’t need me, fine. Let him see just how much he doesn’t need me.”

            “Are you really willing to watch the whole place sink just for, what? Your pride? Everyone already knows you’re the best, what are you trying to prove?”

            Achilles didn’t say anything. Patroclus shook his head.

            “There’s a fight next week in Illius. I’m going.” Patroclus said.

             “No you’re not.”

            “Are you going to stop me?”

            Achilles huffed.

            “It’s welter weight. I’ve been training hard. I can take him.”

            “Who?”

            “They haven’t said yet, weigh in’s on Friday. Match is Saturday afternoon. We’re getting a hotel and staying up there.”

            “I don’t like this.” Achilles said.

            “I didn’t ask you to like it.”  Patroclus said.

            Achilles ran a hand through his hair and sighed. “Just promise you’ll be careful, no shame in tagging out.”

            “Thanks for the confidence,” He said smiling a little.

            Achilles shoved him lightly. “You know what I mean.”

            Patroclus leaned over and kissed his cheek. “Yeah I know what you mean.”

            By the time Achilles sat up again his clothes were soaked and the sun hung low in the sky. He brushed the sand out of his hair as best he could and started the long walk back to his apartment. He was going to fight Hector. He was going to win. After that he didn’t know what he was going to do. But of those two things he was sure.

            They’d make a hell of a promotion out of it anyway.

            When he got back home it was dark and he found Briseis sitting on the steps reading a book under the porch light. He hesitated. They were roommates but she had always been more Pat’s friend then his. Not that he had any problem with her, not really, but they didn’t exactly have much in common and he always had the slightest pang of jealousy at how well her and Pat got along. He cleared his throat and she looked up.  

            “Finally,” She said setting her book aside. She got up and looked him over. “Antilochus called. Where have you been?”

            He shrugged.

            “I’ve been trying to get a hold of you all day. Are you ok?” The exasperation in her voice confused him a little.

            He ran a hand through his hair. “I’m tired,” he said dumbly.

            She nodded. “Yeah, join the club.”

            There was a few long seconds of silence and he could feel her eyes on him.

             “Look. I’m sorry. Ok?” Achilles said. He shifted the bag from his shoulder.

            “You should be I was worried.”

            He frowned. “Not for that, for Pat, for all of it…I know you blame me.”

            She sighed. “You’re so dramatic…” She said shaking her head. “I don’t blame you. The only one blaming you is you. You know that right?”

            “Bull shit...” He said gritting his teeth.

            She crossed her arms. “Contrary to popular belief, not everything in the world revolves around you, Achilles. Things happen.”

            “He was only there because I wasn’t! He wasn’t ready for that fight!” Achilles clenched his fist and Briseis took a step forward daring him. She had her hair hidden under a pastel green scarf and a determined look in her eyes.

            “What are you going to do Achilles, hit me?” Briseis said. Achilles was quiet.  “He wasn’t some delicate flower you needed to protect,” she said. “He went eight rounds with Hector. Eight. I was there. You should have seen the look on Hector’s face when getting shown up by this no name kid,” She put a hand on Achilles’ cheek and he looked down. “It was a freak accident, Achilles. No one could have known that was going to happen.” 

             Achilles wiped at his eyes and huffed frustrated. “I just—” he started. “I just miss him so much,” It came out more fractured then he would have liked.

            Briseis slipped her hand into his and squeezed it. He looked at her and she brushed the hair from his face. “You loved him. I know you did. I did too. But what you’re doing right now? It’s toxic.”

            “It’s not fair,” he said quietly wrapping his arms around himself.

            “You’re right. It’s not fair.” She said. She leaned against him.

            They stood together, quiet, and watched flies buzz around the chipped enamel of the porch light and listened to the crickets in the grass. After a while they went inside. Achilles took a shower and curled up on his bed with his hair still wet. Briseis came in a while later and laid with him. Neither of them said much and Achilles thought there was some strange feeling of security in that.  A light breeze tossed the curtains over the windows and he traced patterns in the dust floating on the light that streamed in from the sodium lamps outside. He tried really hard to think of nothing that night and after a long time he couldn’t fight the weight of the day anymore. He closed his eyes and let the sound Briseis’ steady breathing lull him to sleep.

 

             


End file.
